[Fic] t Started Out With A Kidnapping
Title: It Started Out With A Kidnapping
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Minseok/Chanyeol
Length: 14.4k
Summary: The Prince has been kidnapped. Minseok wouldn't care, except now everyone thinks he did it.
The Miser’s Tavern isn’t known for its food. Or its drinks. Or even the clientele. Well, perhaps it is known for how rowdy the clientele can be. A traveler would be hard pressed to spend an evening in the building without some sort of altercation spilling into the streets.
As voices rise and give way to shouting that leads directly to a small man climbing onto a table to jump on the man he’s taken issue with, Minseok wonders why it is that he’d stopped off here of all places. He could have kept traveling despite the sun having set; it’s not as if he isn’t equipped to handle himself in case he were to be assaulted. The last group of bandits who attempted to rob him on the road now live a joyous life as pond toads.
The scuffle quickly gets pushed out the door by the burly owner who Minseok is mostly positive is male. But he could be wrong. There could be giant blood involved. Anyone with giant blood is hairier than most. The eager spectators - the ones now openly placing bets - rush after to keep watch, and Minseok is left in peace.
His mead is lukewarm, and he spies the remnants of another drink still stuck to the bottom of his mug. He politely sets it aside to dig into his meal. A bug skitters over the table, straight onto his plate to make itself at home in his mashed potatoes, and Minseok loses his appetite. The plate joins his mug, and he leans back, his spine cracking. It brings much needed relief.
He’s been traveling lately, keeping an eye on the magical bindings in the different villages he passes through. Some of the shields that keep out predatory animals and people with malicious intent are weakening across the country, and his tinkering puts them back in order without anyone ever knowing there was an issue. Except for that one seaside village that had been overrun by a flesh-eating algae. That had been a tricky job to lure it all out first, but most of the citizens made it through with only a few toes or fingers lost.
Minseok takes pride in being a mage. It’s not a profession; that implies that he does it for the gold. No, Minseok does it for the joy of his craft and because he’s really not a people person. He’d been fascinated by magic when he was a small child, amazed at the old mage who lived on the outskirts of his village. He was retired, his body worn down from magic use, but he’d been happy to teach a young Minseok whose eyes lit up, and curiosity had him listening to every word with an eagerness that belied his age.
There was never any question that Minseok would enroll at the Tower - the school for those wishing to learn to harness magic - and that he would graduate the youngest in his generation.
That was many, many years ago. Minseok is older now, practiced and careful and a master in his craft. He remembers his past with fondness, remembers finding that old mage to tell him he’d graduated. His eyes had been clouded over, his every breath rattling in his lungs with a sickness he didn’t want cured. Minseok got to thank him before he passed, and now he treasures his memories close to his heart.
Minseok reclines in the wooden chair, head tipped back to stare at the wooden beams that run along the ceiling. He ponders taking a room, sleeping in a bed for the first time in days, although the beds around here might not be as comfortable as the ground. He’s weighing the pros and cons of sticking around someplace this loud until he’s interrupted by a shadow cutting through his vision.
A trio of men stand in a semi-circle around Minseok; they’ve a rough look about them - unshaven, clothes dirty, and the stench of not washing wafting toward Minseok who wrinkles his nose.
“Can I help you?” he inquires. This lot doesn’t look like much, but he knows better than to judge by appearances only. He can already see how the middle one is fingering the hilt of the knife strapped to his thigh and the one to his far right is fidgeting nervously.
“Yeah, you can come with us quietly. I’d hate to have to slide my blade in your belly.”
Minseok cocks an eyebrow in interest, sitting up straighter in his chair. He slowly places his palms on the table before him in a gesture of goodwill. “May I inquire as to what business you have with a wandering traveler such as myself? I don’t carry much in the way of gold if that’s what you’re after.”
Minseok takes stock of the tavern; most of the crowd is still outside, probably distracted with the fight that he would bet one of these three had a hand in starting. There are a few people still inside, and they’re all watching Minseok carefully. They could be accomplices in case these three aren’t enough to subdue him or merely curious.
Either way, he’s outnumbered and tired, and he’s in no mood for a fight. Diffusing the situation would be ideal.
“Either you’re really dumb or really smart,” the man says. Minseok assumes he’s the leader. “We’re taking you in for the bounty.”
Minseok blinks at that. “Bounty? Are you sure you have the right person?”
The leader jerks his head and the man in the middle pulls a rolled up parchment from his pants, handing it over. The leader unrolls it, staring down at it, then at Minseok, then back down. “You Minseok?”
“If I was, wouldn’t it be foolish of me to admit it?”
The leader turns the scroll for Minseok to see for himself. And indeed, there’s a rough drawing of him along with his name scrawled underneath.
WANTED for KIDNAPPING: Prince Chanyeol
That’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard, and Minseok barks out a laugh. “The Prince?” he asks incredulously. Minseok clutches his belly over his robes, but the action has all three men jumping to attention.
The leader lunges and Minseok rolls his eyes, grabbing the man by the wrist before he can even get to his weapon, twisting until it cracks. He’d really been hoping to avoid a fight, but he can see that’s not going to happen. The man to the right tries to get to Minseok over the table and Minseok simply flicks his hand, using the latent magic that buzzes through his body to send the table across the room, pinning the man to the wall.
That leaves the one in the middle who is staring down at his leader on the floor who’s now grasping at his useless hand. “Get him,” the leader growls. “Dead or alive.”
The man clearly hesitates, afraid of Minseok, and he should be. Minseok hasn’t even begun to pull on the magic he can command. Minseok’s far less inclined to hold back on his magic before killing someone when he’s in a foul mood. Being hungry and tired both constitute foul.
He dispatches of the third would-be assassin with ease, flicking his fingers and allowing the magic to travel from his chest and down through his arms, coming out the tips of his fingers as sticky ropes. The man is covered in it from head to toe, unable to move and he loses his balance, teetering dangerously until he finally falls.
Minseok plucks the parchment from the mess on the floor, carefully stepping over the injured leader. The bounty hunter, however, isn’t a smart one, and he grasps for Minseok’s robe. Minseok clucks his tongue, turning long enough to send the man whizzing over the floor until his back slams against a stone hearth. He’ll live - probably.
Minseok makes his way out of the tavern, his eyes on the parchment but every other sense dedicated to ensuring no one else is going to attempt an attack. Kidnapping the Prince. Minseok scoffs. He would never risk his head for something as stupid as kidnapping a prince. And if he were going to do something foolish like kidnapping a prince, he would do it without a trace. It’s obvious that the person or people behind this were sloppy. Perhaps purposefully so if Minseok has been implicated.
It’s such a nuisance.
Now he’s going to have to find this Prince Chanyeol and return him to his home, or he’ll have to endure more petty bounty hunters coming for the reward.
It’s so beneath him, the rescuing of princes. Minseok slowly makes his way out of the town, well aware that there are several people hidden in the shadows now following. He’s going to have to put in some effort to get them off his trail, and he’s still so tired. All he’d wanted was a meal and a place to sleep; all he’s gotten is a tear in the hem of his robe and a new problem to solve.
It’s a beautiful morning. The sun sifts through the canopy, leaving droplets of light across the ground that resemble the tinkling laughter of faeries. It’s been a long time since any of the fae inhabited this particular forest, but their mark is still left on the trees and plants alike. Minseok sees their runes carved into wood, sees the splash of residual faery dust scattered over flower petals even from his perch on a high branch.
Common folk wouldn’t notice it, but Minseok’s in tune with the magics that run through this world. His eyes brush over the remnants of what had been a populated forest, lamenting the loss that came with human expansion into their territory. He’d chosen this spot to sleep for the night, knowing the people following him would lose him the moment he stepped through the line of trees. There’s still enough lingering magic here to mask his presence.
Minseok knows what he has to do, but he’s struggling with moving. It’s not that he’s particularly comfortable on the branch, but he’d had such a fitful night of half-sleeping that he’s nearly tempted to conjure himself a bed and let another day pass before leaving the safety of the forest. But he knows he needs to get this taken care of sooner rather than later. Putting it off could only lead to greater consequences, especially if something happens to the Prince before Minseok can get to him.
What Minseok needs to do is get his hands on something of the Prince’s so he can locate him. And then it’s a matter of following the trail to foil the real captor, rescue the Prince, and take him home, clearing his name. Easy peasy.
Minseok still lingers for a while longer, taking his time as he cuts through the protected swath of trees and toward the castle. He would attempt to summon something of the Prince’s to him, but the castle has a shield around it, keeping magic from getting in or out. If it were anyone else, he could just pop to where he wanted, but no. It had to be a prince.
The severity of the crime, along with his face being plastered everywhere, requires that Minseok fashion himself a new face after coming across the first wanted posters just after he made it to the nearest public road. He huffs, irritated that his name is being sullied with such a petty crime. Anyone who has spent the better part of their life learning how to manipulate the magics of the twelve known planes and has dedicated his body as a conduit for the gods, isn’t going to bother with something as mundane as common folk politics.
Minseok conceals his identity with the face of someone too plain to draw attention, siphoning the color from his beautiful blue robe until it appears as drab gray to fit in with the crowds, pulling the hood over his head after. He frowns down at himself, a wave of his hand placing an undetectable spell on him so if he is seen, he'll be forgotten the moment he’s out of sight.
Crowds have never been something Minseok enjoys, and he squeezes through the early afternoon market-goers with a low murmur of displeasure, trying to keep to the sides to avoid being jostled around. He keeps his eyes to the ground, taking detours between stalls when guards are in sight. There are more out than usual, and he curses his misfortune. A prince. Minseok heaves out a sigh and wanders nearer to the castle, not wanting to take a direct path in case something or someone is able to see through his spells and follow him. It’s not likely, but he doesn’t want to take any chances.
The castle is large, standing tall and proud and a symbol to the arrogance that only royalty seems to possess. Minseok scoffs at the unnecessarily gaudy decorations, standing just outside the barrier that protects the grounds. His hand brushes carefully over it, testing the strength and malleability so he knows what he’s working with. It’s strong, just not strong enough to keep him out. It will take concentration and time, but he can punch a hole in it just large enough for himself without being detected.
Minseok wanders further around the edge of the barrier, fingers tickling against the magic to keep his bearings. The marketplace disappears behind him, along with the errant citizens in the fields around it, until Minseok is alone. He stares up at the buttresses with disdain, lip curling. It’s all so extravagant and for no reason at all. Everyone knows they rule the land. No need to flaunt it about.
Minseok finds a spot in the barrier that’s a little weaker than the rest, peering around to ensure he’s alone before deciding to stay. It takes a lot of concentration, his palms settled on the barrier as he uses his own magic to open a small hole that he can expand. Sweat beads along his forehead, his chest ballooning with all the magic pooling inside him before it rushes into his arms. Minseok’s always loved the feeling that comes with knowing he’s one of the chosen few in the world who can harness the power of the gods. His fingertips tingle, and though the magic isn’t visible to anyone else, Minseok can see the streaks of light - blue and yellow and orange - that wedge themselves into the barrier.
It’s a stubborn spell around the castle, but Minseok manages to create a hole in a few minutes. He hooks his fingers in the opening, pulling it apart enough to slip himself through. As soon as he’s inside, it seals itself, a zip of white light blinking from the seam before dying and leaving the barrier as whole as Minseok found it. Now all he has to do is figure out which room is the Prince’s so he can pop in and back out without being detected.
There are limitations to magic; this is something that Minseok knows well. He likes to push against those limits to see how hard they’ll snap back. This time the risk of casting his spirit into the mind of a servant, or doing anything to reveal himself, isn’t worth it. The brief idea of teleporting himself into the castle and hoping for the best is quickly discarded. Without knowing the layout, he’s liable to end up embedded in a wall, or halfway inside some unnecessarily large painting of one royal or another.
Instead of tempting fate, Minseok hides himself in the bushes, sitting cross-legged and out of sight. He opens the tie on his robes, reaching inside to one of the numerous pockets that line the fabric. A mage would be nothing without his robe - the pockets are enchanted to hold any number of things, creating a dimension of their own to store whatever a mage needs to carry with him. Minseok reaches into the pocket with his books and calls the right one to his hand.
Somewhere in the large tome now open on his lap is a detailed floor plan, magically kept up-to-date. Minseok just needs to find it. He pages through maps of villages, of the mines, of the migrating patterns of dragons, and the paths that the faeries take to pay tribute to nature before he finds the castle plans. He flips the book the right way to orient himself, then teleports himself exactly where he needs to be.
The large bedroom is a mess. Minseok takes stock of it all, sighing when he realizes that the mess isn’t because of whoever kidnapped the Prince. This is just how the Prince lives. Minseok stares at the large canopy bed with rumpled crimson velvet blankets pushed to the end, the gauzy gold curtains folded over the top and out of the way. Everything is decadent, and Minseok doesn’t understand people who need to surround themselves in these things when there are far better ways to live.
It shouldn’t be a problem finding something of the Prince’s that he can borrow. No one would miss it because no one could find anything in the mess. There’s magic still lingering in the air. Every mage’s magic leaves a different signature, each one as unique as a fingerprint, and Minseok studies the way it dances in the air, his curiosity growing because he doesn’t recognize it. There aren’t many mages in the world, and there are even fewer still that Minseok doesn’t know. It begs the question - why would some mage he’s never met frame him for kidnapping the Prince?
“Halt!”
Minseok blinks out of his haze and turns his stare toward the armored guard standing in the open doorway, a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Do I look like I’m moving?” Minseok responds dispassionately.
The guard looks confused before standing tall, still poised to pull his weapon. “You’re the one responsible for Prince Chanyeol’s disappearance,” the guard accuses.
Minseok sighs, only just refraining from rolling his eyes to express his irritance. “If I kidnapped your prince, why would I come back?”
The guard furrows his eyebrows, mouth twisted; he appears as if he’s trying to decipher a particularly difficult riddle. “Perhaps there is something of his that you need. Raise your hands so I can see them, mage!” he yells, pulling his sword.
“Oh for -” Minseok raises his hands, but also lets loose enough magic to have the guard’s arms pinned to his sides, sword clattering to the floor. “Weren’t you ever taught not to play with sharp objects?” Minseok tsks. “Why are you even here? What’s the point of guarding the Prince’s room when he’s already been taken?” Minseok pauses, a hand propped on his hip. “Unless he just wandered off and you needed someone to pin it on and decided a mage should take the fall.”
Minseok’s musing aloud, forgetting about the guard completely as his eyes dart around the room again. “Ah ha!” He has to step over two piles of clothing to get to the shelves mounted to the wall. Atop the lavishly padded wood lays a line of crowns. One of them is missing - presumably still on the prince’s head - but any of them will do.
Minseok plucks one off the shelf and inspects it, running fingers over the gilded edges as the gemstones scatter colors over the floor from the sunlight spilling through the window. How is anyone supposed to keep their eyes open staring at such a thing? Is the goal to blind everyone who dares set eyes upon a royal?
There’s a muffled thump behind Minseok and when he turns, he sees that the incapacitated guard has fallen to the floor. “Oh, you’re still here.” Minseok strides over to him, crouching by the man’s head. He pats him fondly on the shoulder. “It’s alright,” he reassures the guard. “You won’t remember this.”
Minseok doesn’t really have a place that he calls home. Home is where he’s needed. Home is where he can close his eyes for the night. Home is where the magic guides him.
But he does have a small house hidden in the trees near the village where he grew up. Call him sentimental, but it feels wrong relocating permanently when this is the place he was born. So he took up shelter in an abandoned cottage that had been taken over by the forest around it. Minseok let most of the vines and growing plants stay, even going out of his way to ensure he left the proper holes in the roof so they can get the sunlight they need. He’s not worried about his belongings; those are kept safe in the cellar.
Minseok is in the cellar now, tapping his foot as his latest attempt at putting a locator spell on the crown fails. There’s a plume of violet smoke that fills the air and Minseok coughs as it quickly floods through the room. He bursts out of the cellar, letting the vile smoke out as he lays spread eagle on the floor, pulling in deep gulps of fresh air. The crown is still in his hand, and he knocks it purposely on the brick fireplace. The crown doesn’t give, but some of the brick crumbles and Minseok huffs. He’s properly stumped.
Someone has to be blocking him: that’s the only explanation. Locator spells are simple magic. Not being able to get one to stick to the crown means that whoever took the Prince doesn’t want him to be found.
“By all the gods and powers in the known dimensions, I cast every curse on the person responsible for this,” Minseok hisses. “Xiumin help me,” he invokes, calling on the god whose power he pulls from, in his frustration.
The smoke begins to clear and Minseok peers up through one of the holes in the roof. The tree that curls upward through the living room spans wide enough to block most of the sunlight with its leaves, but the small slants of light that spill through dance along the walls and floor. The nature around him serves to calm him and Minseok’s grip on the crown lessens, the anger in his chest seeping from him until he’s far less likely to summon a thunderstorm to mirror his mood.
“This is a bit tricky, isn’t it?” comes a sudden voice.
Minseok jolts in surprise, eyes flying open only to see himself standing above him. The man crouches over Minseok, leaning over to take the crown, and Minseok allows it. He lays still on the floor, intrigued.
“Then again, it would have to be tricky if it gets you so riled up.”
“Xiumin,” Minseok breathes out.
“I have to say, I love what you’ve done - or not done - with the place.” Xiumin slips the crown onto his head, a circle of gold wreathing a head of mauve hair. Of all the colors Minseok has worn, mauve was never one he’d thought of, but it looks quite nice. It’s only mildly disconcerting that he knows because his god has chosen to show himself in the form of Minseok himself.
Xiumin makes himself at home, sitting on the roots of the tree that have grown through the floor. The flora seems to move around him, molding to form a chair beneath him cushioned by leaves and grass, flowers twirling around the edges to keep it all sewn together. Xiumin runs his fingers over the petals of a purple flower, thanking it before turning his attention back to Minseok who is still on the floor.
“Don’t stand up or anything. You’re fine where you are.”
Minseok sits up, so he doesn’t hurt his neck trying to look at his god. “Why are you here?” he inquires. Gods aren’t known for actually helping when asked.
Xiumin clucks his tongue, nose scrunching for a moment. “You called for me. Why else?”
“I’ve called for you many times. This is only the second time you’ve answered.” The first was when Minseok invoked Xiumin’s power for the first time while in school. They say the god chooses the mage and Xiumin had chosen Minseok earlier than most are chosen. He’d appeared to him then in the guise of a frost elemental, burning his brand on the insides of Minseok’s wrists. It had felt more cold than hot and the marks are cool now, pulsing with the magic of having the god so close.
“Let’s say I have a . . . personal investment in this particular case,” Xiumin responds cheekily, grinning as he taps a nail on the crown.
“Then why don’t you leave me out of it, and do it yourself?” Minseok suggests. There’s dirt on his robe, and he brushes it off, frowning when it doesn’t come clean.
Xiumin clucks his tongue. “Your enemy serves another, so I can not intervene.”
Typical. Minseok watches as Xiumin takes the crown from his head, twirling it between his palms. There’s an ease to his movements that betrays Xiumin’s identity, and Minseok studies it. The fluidity in the way the crown balances so easily, spinning of its own accord draws Minseok in.
“I can, however,” Xiumin begins, the crown going faster, shining like a beacon, “help you. A little.”
The crown stays in the air even when Xiumin’s hands fall away, appearing as a ball of white light that begins to move toward Minseok. When it gets to him, the spinning slows, the light fading until all that’s left is the same crown that it was before. Minseok plucks it from the air, nearly hissing at the magic imbued in the gold. It’s cold to the touch, not even warming under Minseok’s fingertips.
“It will guide you to the lost Prince,” Xiumin proclaims, clapping his hands once. He seems pleased with himself, as if he’s done some great service. Minseok supposes he should be thankful that Xiumin chose to help at all, although most gods who meddle directly in the affairs of man only screw things up more.
“Thank you,” Minseok says, but when he looks up, he’s alone in the room. Xiumin is gone, his throne of vines the only evidence left that he was even there at all. Minseok sits in it with a sigh, pushing the crown down on his own head. He’ll use the rest of the day to gather what he needs in preparation to leave in the morning.
The thing about locator spells, even the ones placed on an object by a god, is that they’re direct. They don’t care for things like roads or cliffs or expanses of water that are impossible to cross. Minseok is at the whim of the crown, cloaked in a concealment spell that extends to the edges of the enchanted carpet he’s riding through the air. The crown sometimes likes to float out of the range of the spell, and Minseok’s had to speed the carpet enough to keep up. On one occasion, a small child standing on the path below had seen the crown and shouted, pointing and jumping. Minseok had quickly sped forward by the time her companions looked up to see.
Now, all Minseok can see are the tree tops. He’s no stranger to this particular forest even if it’s not visited by many humans. It’s where the fae folk live, their domicile stretching and weaving through and under the trees. It’s curious that the kidnapper would be so far to the east. These lands are unsettled by humans, but that leaves Minseok wondering if the kidnapper is even human. That opens a new window of possibilities, and Minseok finds himself frustrated again. He can’t readily face some unknown entity without verifying what it is first.
This entire quest is a hindrance. He’d much rather be out wandering through the trails, forging his own path and cleaning up the messes that already abound. When he finds the Prince’s kidnapper, he’s going to wring its neck. Assuming it has a neck.
It’s nearing nightfall when Minseok dares to finally pull out something to eat; the darkness should conceal the crown if there’s anyone around who might spot it. He has rations for a week stored in one of the many pockets in his robe, all kept fresh in their bottles so nothing spoils. Minseok is fishing for the right one, bottles all clinking together, when something sharp slices over his fingertip. He curses, nearly losing control of the carpet and tipping the entire thing over. A droplet of blood slides down Minseok’s finger, and he scowls, speeding the carpet to snatch the crown out of the air before beginning his descent. There’s a small clearing in the trees and Minseok aims for it, setting down in the grass.
The moment he has the crown wedged under his leg to keep it from floating off, Minseok shoves his hand back into the pocket. He feels around, knocking over several bottles, but not finding anything broken. He reaches further, his arm sinking up to his shoulder until he comes across something that’s not a bottle. Minseok gets his fingers around it, pulling the culprit from his robes.
Wiggling in his grasp, snarling and cursing, is an imp. Imps are tiny humanoid creatures with pointed ears, coiling tails and teeth like razors. They survive by absorbing magic; just being around a mage is enough to sustain an imp. Normally, Minseok doesn’t have a problem with imps but this one, however, bit him. It still stings.
“Put me down you bully!” the imp demands, still kicking his little legs while his arms are folded across his chest. His red eyes narrow at Minseok and his ears twitch.
Minseok curls his lip at the creature. “Why should I? You bit me.”
“You woke me from my nap!” the imp retorts. “I was startled!”
“Well go nap somewhere else,” Minseok demands, holding the imp over the side of the carpet. As soon as he opens his hand, the imp wraps his arms around Minseok’s fingers, refusing to let go. “I said off! I’m not on the menu anymore.”
“I’ll be good,” the imp promises. His little tail curls around another of Minseok’s fingers and he looks so distressed that Minseok almost feels bad for him.
Minseok closes his eyes, sighing in defeat. “No more teeth,” he says, pulling his hand back.
The imp nods eagerly, blinking up at Minseok with a smile. “Thank you!” he squeaks, tapping his small fingers on Minseok’s thumb. “I’m Baekhyun.”
“I don’t care.” Minseok shoves Baekhyun back in the pocket, appetite lost. He’ll eat later when he’s done flying.
It’s well after dark when the crown begins vibrating gently, the magic around it glowing brighter to indicate that its target is near. Minseok doesn’t see anywhere in the area where a Prince could be stashed, but these valleys are known for their caves and tunnels that lead to the mountains in the distance. Minseok sets the carpet down in a field. The grass is tall, flowers blooming and scattered through the blades. They sway in the breeze and if Minseok wasn’t so tired and hungry, he’d appreciate their beauty.
This time, when he feels around in his pocket for a bottle, it’s pushed into his hand by the imp. He pops the cork on the small purple bottle, a puff of yellow smoke escaping before it gathers and coalesces into a nice, juicy roast chicken. It’s still as good as it was when it was cooked, pulled from the oven and allowed to cool just enough to eat. Minseok pulls out another bottle - blue this time - and washes his meal down with honey lemonade.
His eyes grow heavy, tired from keeping a continuous spell going all day and night. He barely has the energy to cast another spell, weaving a concealment shield around himself and adding an alarm as well that will sound if anyone nears. It drains the last of his energy and Minseok slumps on his carpet, asleep before he can let out another breath, the crown tucked safely in a pocket.
Minseok sleeps through the morning.
Minseok sleeps through the afternoon.
Minseok wakes when the sun begins setting with Baekhyun tugging on his ear, screeching about an entire day having gone by, and he curses at himself for losing so much precious time. Perhaps it’s just as well, Minseok surmises, as he gazes around the field, the crown wobbling to be freed from its confines as Baekhyun, satisfied, crawls back into a pocket. With the shadows flooding through the valley, Minseok won’t have to expend his magic to hide himself; the night will do it for him. He fashions a tether to keep the crown near, a magical thread attached to Minseok’s finger that will stretch only as far as he wants it to.
The carpet has been rolled up and pushed into a pocket and Minseok waits for the last rays of sunlight to darken before releasing the crown. It speeds toward its owner, Minseok following as silently as he can manage through the tall grass. It can’t be too far. Minseok keeps it just within his sight, every now and then tugging on the nearly invisible thread.
The field is left behind, the crown leading Minseok into a patch of trees, weaving him around the trunks and toward something on the other side. And soon, even the trees are fading into the background as Minseok stumbles over a more rocky terrain. He doesn’t much like being exposed and he thinks about pausing to cast a spell around himself to hide, but the crown knocks against something.
It’s a soft sound, like it’s fallen on carpet and Minseok slinks forward to investigate. When he gets there, the crown is trying valiantly to push its way through an invisible barrier. The inside is shielded; Minseok can’t discern what it’s hiding, but it must be the prince. There’s nothing else out here.
It just seems to be one thing after another that stands in his way. All he wants is to get his hands on whoever framed him for this ridiculous mess and make them suffer as he’s suffered.
Minseok grits his teeth and rubs at his eyes, snatching the crown out of the air before it draws any unwanted attention. As much as Minseok would like to blast his way through the barrier, it would be unwise. If he’s been balked so often thus far, he may not be prepared for what’s waiting for him. The smart thing to do is back off and do a little recon. It’s with a weary heart that Minseok heads back to the area he’d camped in earlier. It’s far enough away to be undetected, and he can hunker down, unseen in the tall grass.
It pains Minseok to admit that he needs help. His pride may not like it, but it doesn’t stop him. Minseok closes his eyes, relaxing enough to extend his consciousness, searching through a sea of minds to find the right one. As soon as he makes contact, he snaps out of it, shaking his head until he feels like one piece again.
“It’s been a long time.” Jongin’s face is always a familiar, welcoming one and Minseok smiles at his old friend despite the frustrating circumstances. Jongin steps gingerly around Minseok’s hunched form, his bare feet silent in the grass. He sits across from Minseok, head tilted. “You are troubled.”
“I wish this was a social call,” Minseok begins. “But I require your help.”
Jongin scrunches his nose for a moment just before breaking out into a smile. “Such a serious tone,” Jongin chuckles. “You know you can ask anything of me and I will not refuse.”
Minseok does know. It’s why he summoned his friend. And it’s why Jongin’s the only one he even thought about summoning. “I have a pesky problem,” Minseok begins, earning a larger grin from Jongin, “and something keeps blocking me. I think I’ve finally found what I need, but it’s hidden behind a shield and a concealment spell that I can’t break without revealing myself.”
“And you’d like me to pop in and see what’s inside?” Jongin guesses.
“Please,” Minseok replies.
“Point me in the right direction,” Jongin says, standing and brushing the dirt from his pants.
Minseok tells Jongin where to look, then watches as his friend fades into the shadows, blending with them to travel. Minseok isn’t worried; Jongin knows what he’s doing. Jongin is a plane walker; he can travel through dimensions unhindered and without detection.
They met years ago when Minseok was still getting used to being a proper mage. Jongin had called to Minseok for help through his dreams, probably finding the strongest entity in the nearby area and latching on. Jongin had been trapped, having gone too near a collapsing dimension and was stretched over several dimensions in an effort to keep from getting pulled inside. Minseok had bound Jongin’s soul to that of something far too powerful to suffer the same fate.
There aren’t many of the ancient dragons left, but Minseok happened to have made acquaintance with one only the winter before and the dragon, Yifan, had agreed to allow Jongin’s soul to be tethered to his. Their bond had allowed Jongin to escape, and Jongin had sworn a blood oath to Minseok to help him whenever he called. Minseok has only ever called on Jongin for conversation in the past. The gifts of a plane walker are not to be squandered and Minseok wishes there was another way, but Jongin will solve this quickly. Time is of the essence, and Minseok is antsy, hoping that he hasn’t sent Jongin into danger even when there’s no possibility of him being discovered.
It only takes minutes for Jongin to return, appearing out of the shadows as quickly as he’d vanished. He folds his legs as he takes up a spot across from Minseok again. “Beyond the shield is nothing more than a shelter in danger of falling. It’s old, having probably been a home once. I expect your quarry is the one inside. He seemed rather put out about his surroundings, and he’s wearing an insignia on his clothing. My guess is royalty.”
Minseok blinks, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “There was no one else?”
Jongin shakes his head. “None. There was only the man.”
“Thank you, Jongin.”
“Don’t wait so long to call on me next time,” Jongin scolds, smiling and reaching over to ruffle Minseok’s hair before he leaves.
Minseok pats down his hair with a scowl. Sometimes he forgets that Jongin is decades older than him even if Jongin will always appear young. He’s also wary of the Prince being alone. It could still be a trap, but Minseok has no choice. He’s not about to live the rest of his days hiding from a bounty on his head for something he didn’t do.
It’s with renewed determination that Minseok heads back to the shield, the crown in his grasp trying to free itself so it can rush forward. Minseok allows it to slip loose, but keeps it close with the thread. He retraces his steps that he’d taken before until the crown is pushing at the barrier.
The barrier isn’t all that dissimilar to the one that surrounds the castle. Minseok pierces through it easily, and the entire thing comes down, revealing the shoddy shelter. From this angle, Minseok can’t see inside it, but the crown zooms forward, whizzing through the air until it veers around the side. Minseok has to give chase, nearly tripping over wooden beams that have already fallen to the ground. The entrance is free from debris and Minseok steps inside, anticipating an attack.
Instead, he gets a glowering Prince tied to a chair, the enchanted crown now perched atop his unruly auburn hair and his eyes narrowed in Minseok’s direction. Minseok edges forward, convinced that something is going to strike at any moment, but nothing does. He stands before the Prince, eyes scanning over the ceiling and to the sides.
“Are you here to free me?” the Prince demands, rocking his chair side-to-side dangerously. Minseok almost wants to watch and see if he tips himself over.
Minseok sighs. “I am.”
It’s simple to release the Prince from his bindings. All Minseok has to do is snap his fingers and the ropes break, leaving the Prince free to stand up as he pleases. Minseok is still peering around, trying to figure out why this is so easy. He’s been balked at every turn. There should be something more than this.
“Where’s the rest of the rescue party?” the Prince inquires, his voice bearing all the weight of his title. “I assume you’ve brought a horse for me and perhaps a change of clothing.”
Minseok draws his attention from the room and fixes the Prince with an unimpressed stare. He doesn’t like the fact that he has to look up at him. “I’m all there is,” Minseok tells him. “I apologize that I didn’t bring an entourage. They would have drawn too much attention.”
The Prince glares at Minseok and Minseok doesn’t feel an ounce of sympathy despite the dirt clinging to the man’s skin and clothing. He’s been here, probably tied up for days if the welts around his wrists are any indication.
“Do you know who took you?” Minseok asks.
He gets a shrug in return. “I could tell you his face if I see him again, but I do not know his name.”
It’s peculiar that the kidnapper would ensure the guard saw Minseok’s face, yet the Prince was shown a different one. It could be sloppy work. Or it could all be part of some larger scheme. It doesn’t sit well with Minseok. His original plan had him magicking both himself and Chanyeol to the entrance to the castle, as close as the barrier would allow. But he can’t simply take the Prince home if he hasn’t caught the culprit.
Minseok turns and walks out of the shelter; he’ll find nothing more here and he’s left with a sour taste in his mouth. It’s a half-victory at best. He has the Prince in his possession at least.
When Minseok realizes that the Prince isn’t following him, he pops his head back in. “Are you coming? Or shall I tie you back up so you can wait for your next hero?”
The Prince’s glare gets more heated. “How do I know I can trust you? You could be the same creature that took me.”
“If I was your kidnapper, what reason would I have for freeing you?”
“How am I supposed to know the mind of a madman?”
Minseok bristles at the insult. “I am a mage. I do not care for games. My time is precious, and you’re wasting it. So either follow me, or sit here for your captor to return. I’ve no patience for princes.”
Minseok storms off, grumbling under his breath about royalty and their entitlement, pausing only to glance back for a brief moment. The Prince is following, albeit at a distance. He looks just as grumpy as Minseok feels. Something in Minseok’s chest knocks loose, an old emotion that he hasn’t felt in a long time now rattling toward his heart until he’s letting out a sigh. Compassion. The Prince clearly hasn’t eaten in days and he looks like he’s about to stumble to the ground and pass out.
“Once we’re a safe distance away, we’ll stop so you can rest. I have food and water.”
The Prince looks unsure, but finally nods his head after a moment. “That would be appreciated.”
Minseok leads the Prince toward where he’d camped earlier. The grass is still stamped down and Minseok pulls out the carpet for them both to sit on. It has no other use now that there’s two of them. It can’t fly with the weight of more than one person on it, but it’ll do nicely as a tablecloth for Minseok to spread the food on.
That royal demeanor falls the moment the Prince lifts the first bite of chicken to his mouth. He makes this humming moan, eyes rolling back in his head and Minseok feels satisfied that he’s done some good. He’s not heartless. This quest, however, has gotten under his skin and not in the good way. It’s like a festering wound that he wants to disinfect and sew closed, never to be thought of again.
“Did my parents hire you to find me?” the Prince asks once most of his chicken is gone. There’s still food in his mouth and Minseok cringes, watching as the royal son licks the grease messily from his fingers.
“No,” he answers. “I came on my own.”
The Prince raises an eyebrow at that, looking at Minseok for him to continue.
Minseok doesn’t. “We’ll rest here until dawn. Then we will begin the trek back to your castle.”
“But we’re still so close to where I was taken,” the Prince protests.
“You are well hidden,” Minseok assures him. “I suggest you sleep. We have a lot of walking ahead of us.”
part ii
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Minseok/Chanyeol
Length: 14.4k
Summary: The Prince has been kidnapped. Minseok wouldn't care, except now everyone thinks he did it.
The Miser’s Tavern isn’t known for its food. Or its drinks. Or even the clientele. Well, perhaps it is known for how rowdy the clientele can be. A traveler would be hard pressed to spend an evening in the building without some sort of altercation spilling into the streets.
As voices rise and give way to shouting that leads directly to a small man climbing onto a table to jump on the man he’s taken issue with, Minseok wonders why it is that he’d stopped off here of all places. He could have kept traveling despite the sun having set; it’s not as if he isn’t equipped to handle himself in case he were to be assaulted. The last group of bandits who attempted to rob him on the road now live a joyous life as pond toads.
The scuffle quickly gets pushed out the door by the burly owner who Minseok is mostly positive is male. But he could be wrong. There could be giant blood involved. Anyone with giant blood is hairier than most. The eager spectators - the ones now openly placing bets - rush after to keep watch, and Minseok is left in peace.
His mead is lukewarm, and he spies the remnants of another drink still stuck to the bottom of his mug. He politely sets it aside to dig into his meal. A bug skitters over the table, straight onto his plate to make itself at home in his mashed potatoes, and Minseok loses his appetite. The plate joins his mug, and he leans back, his spine cracking. It brings much needed relief.
He’s been traveling lately, keeping an eye on the magical bindings in the different villages he passes through. Some of the shields that keep out predatory animals and people with malicious intent are weakening across the country, and his tinkering puts them back in order without anyone ever knowing there was an issue. Except for that one seaside village that had been overrun by a flesh-eating algae. That had been a tricky job to lure it all out first, but most of the citizens made it through with only a few toes or fingers lost.
Minseok takes pride in being a mage. It’s not a profession; that implies that he does it for the gold. No, Minseok does it for the joy of his craft and because he’s really not a people person. He’d been fascinated by magic when he was a small child, amazed at the old mage who lived on the outskirts of his village. He was retired, his body worn down from magic use, but he’d been happy to teach a young Minseok whose eyes lit up, and curiosity had him listening to every word with an eagerness that belied his age.
There was never any question that Minseok would enroll at the Tower - the school for those wishing to learn to harness magic - and that he would graduate the youngest in his generation.
That was many, many years ago. Minseok is older now, practiced and careful and a master in his craft. He remembers his past with fondness, remembers finding that old mage to tell him he’d graduated. His eyes had been clouded over, his every breath rattling in his lungs with a sickness he didn’t want cured. Minseok got to thank him before he passed, and now he treasures his memories close to his heart.
Minseok reclines in the wooden chair, head tipped back to stare at the wooden beams that run along the ceiling. He ponders taking a room, sleeping in a bed for the first time in days, although the beds around here might not be as comfortable as the ground. He’s weighing the pros and cons of sticking around someplace this loud until he’s interrupted by a shadow cutting through his vision.
A trio of men stand in a semi-circle around Minseok; they’ve a rough look about them - unshaven, clothes dirty, and the stench of not washing wafting toward Minseok who wrinkles his nose.
“Can I help you?” he inquires. This lot doesn’t look like much, but he knows better than to judge by appearances only. He can already see how the middle one is fingering the hilt of the knife strapped to his thigh and the one to his far right is fidgeting nervously.
“Yeah, you can come with us quietly. I’d hate to have to slide my blade in your belly.”
Minseok cocks an eyebrow in interest, sitting up straighter in his chair. He slowly places his palms on the table before him in a gesture of goodwill. “May I inquire as to what business you have with a wandering traveler such as myself? I don’t carry much in the way of gold if that’s what you’re after.”
Minseok takes stock of the tavern; most of the crowd is still outside, probably distracted with the fight that he would bet one of these three had a hand in starting. There are a few people still inside, and they’re all watching Minseok carefully. They could be accomplices in case these three aren’t enough to subdue him or merely curious.
Either way, he’s outnumbered and tired, and he’s in no mood for a fight. Diffusing the situation would be ideal.
“Either you’re really dumb or really smart,” the man says. Minseok assumes he’s the leader. “We’re taking you in for the bounty.”
Minseok blinks at that. “Bounty? Are you sure you have the right person?”
The leader jerks his head and the man in the middle pulls a rolled up parchment from his pants, handing it over. The leader unrolls it, staring down at it, then at Minseok, then back down. “You Minseok?”
“If I was, wouldn’t it be foolish of me to admit it?”
The leader turns the scroll for Minseok to see for himself. And indeed, there’s a rough drawing of him along with his name scrawled underneath.
WANTED for KIDNAPPING: Prince Chanyeol
That’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard, and Minseok barks out a laugh. “The Prince?” he asks incredulously. Minseok clutches his belly over his robes, but the action has all three men jumping to attention.
The leader lunges and Minseok rolls his eyes, grabbing the man by the wrist before he can even get to his weapon, twisting until it cracks. He’d really been hoping to avoid a fight, but he can see that’s not going to happen. The man to the right tries to get to Minseok over the table and Minseok simply flicks his hand, using the latent magic that buzzes through his body to send the table across the room, pinning the man to the wall.
That leaves the one in the middle who is staring down at his leader on the floor who’s now grasping at his useless hand. “Get him,” the leader growls. “Dead or alive.”
The man clearly hesitates, afraid of Minseok, and he should be. Minseok hasn’t even begun to pull on the magic he can command. Minseok’s far less inclined to hold back on his magic before killing someone when he’s in a foul mood. Being hungry and tired both constitute foul.
He dispatches of the third would-be assassin with ease, flicking his fingers and allowing the magic to travel from his chest and down through his arms, coming out the tips of his fingers as sticky ropes. The man is covered in it from head to toe, unable to move and he loses his balance, teetering dangerously until he finally falls.
Minseok plucks the parchment from the mess on the floor, carefully stepping over the injured leader. The bounty hunter, however, isn’t a smart one, and he grasps for Minseok’s robe. Minseok clucks his tongue, turning long enough to send the man whizzing over the floor until his back slams against a stone hearth. He’ll live - probably.
Minseok makes his way out of the tavern, his eyes on the parchment but every other sense dedicated to ensuring no one else is going to attempt an attack. Kidnapping the Prince. Minseok scoffs. He would never risk his head for something as stupid as kidnapping a prince. And if he were going to do something foolish like kidnapping a prince, he would do it without a trace. It’s obvious that the person or people behind this were sloppy. Perhaps purposefully so if Minseok has been implicated.
It’s such a nuisance.
Now he’s going to have to find this Prince Chanyeol and return him to his home, or he’ll have to endure more petty bounty hunters coming for the reward.
It’s so beneath him, the rescuing of princes. Minseok slowly makes his way out of the town, well aware that there are several people hidden in the shadows now following. He’s going to have to put in some effort to get them off his trail, and he’s still so tired. All he’d wanted was a meal and a place to sleep; all he’s gotten is a tear in the hem of his robe and a new problem to solve.
It’s a beautiful morning. The sun sifts through the canopy, leaving droplets of light across the ground that resemble the tinkling laughter of faeries. It’s been a long time since any of the fae inhabited this particular forest, but their mark is still left on the trees and plants alike. Minseok sees their runes carved into wood, sees the splash of residual faery dust scattered over flower petals even from his perch on a high branch.
Common folk wouldn’t notice it, but Minseok’s in tune with the magics that run through this world. His eyes brush over the remnants of what had been a populated forest, lamenting the loss that came with human expansion into their territory. He’d chosen this spot to sleep for the night, knowing the people following him would lose him the moment he stepped through the line of trees. There’s still enough lingering magic here to mask his presence.
Minseok knows what he has to do, but he’s struggling with moving. It’s not that he’s particularly comfortable on the branch, but he’d had such a fitful night of half-sleeping that he’s nearly tempted to conjure himself a bed and let another day pass before leaving the safety of the forest. But he knows he needs to get this taken care of sooner rather than later. Putting it off could only lead to greater consequences, especially if something happens to the Prince before Minseok can get to him.
What Minseok needs to do is get his hands on something of the Prince’s so he can locate him. And then it’s a matter of following the trail to foil the real captor, rescue the Prince, and take him home, clearing his name. Easy peasy.
Minseok still lingers for a while longer, taking his time as he cuts through the protected swath of trees and toward the castle. He would attempt to summon something of the Prince’s to him, but the castle has a shield around it, keeping magic from getting in or out. If it were anyone else, he could just pop to where he wanted, but no. It had to be a prince.
The severity of the crime, along with his face being plastered everywhere, requires that Minseok fashion himself a new face after coming across the first wanted posters just after he made it to the nearest public road. He huffs, irritated that his name is being sullied with such a petty crime. Anyone who has spent the better part of their life learning how to manipulate the magics of the twelve known planes and has dedicated his body as a conduit for the gods, isn’t going to bother with something as mundane as common folk politics.
Minseok conceals his identity with the face of someone too plain to draw attention, siphoning the color from his beautiful blue robe until it appears as drab gray to fit in with the crowds, pulling the hood over his head after. He frowns down at himself, a wave of his hand placing an undetectable spell on him so if he is seen, he'll be forgotten the moment he’s out of sight.
Crowds have never been something Minseok enjoys, and he squeezes through the early afternoon market-goers with a low murmur of displeasure, trying to keep to the sides to avoid being jostled around. He keeps his eyes to the ground, taking detours between stalls when guards are in sight. There are more out than usual, and he curses his misfortune. A prince. Minseok heaves out a sigh and wanders nearer to the castle, not wanting to take a direct path in case something or someone is able to see through his spells and follow him. It’s not likely, but he doesn’t want to take any chances.
The castle is large, standing tall and proud and a symbol to the arrogance that only royalty seems to possess. Minseok scoffs at the unnecessarily gaudy decorations, standing just outside the barrier that protects the grounds. His hand brushes carefully over it, testing the strength and malleability so he knows what he’s working with. It’s strong, just not strong enough to keep him out. It will take concentration and time, but he can punch a hole in it just large enough for himself without being detected.
Minseok wanders further around the edge of the barrier, fingers tickling against the magic to keep his bearings. The marketplace disappears behind him, along with the errant citizens in the fields around it, until Minseok is alone. He stares up at the buttresses with disdain, lip curling. It’s all so extravagant and for no reason at all. Everyone knows they rule the land. No need to flaunt it about.
Minseok finds a spot in the barrier that’s a little weaker than the rest, peering around to ensure he’s alone before deciding to stay. It takes a lot of concentration, his palms settled on the barrier as he uses his own magic to open a small hole that he can expand. Sweat beads along his forehead, his chest ballooning with all the magic pooling inside him before it rushes into his arms. Minseok’s always loved the feeling that comes with knowing he’s one of the chosen few in the world who can harness the power of the gods. His fingertips tingle, and though the magic isn’t visible to anyone else, Minseok can see the streaks of light - blue and yellow and orange - that wedge themselves into the barrier.
It’s a stubborn spell around the castle, but Minseok manages to create a hole in a few minutes. He hooks his fingers in the opening, pulling it apart enough to slip himself through. As soon as he’s inside, it seals itself, a zip of white light blinking from the seam before dying and leaving the barrier as whole as Minseok found it. Now all he has to do is figure out which room is the Prince’s so he can pop in and back out without being detected.
There are limitations to magic; this is something that Minseok knows well. He likes to push against those limits to see how hard they’ll snap back. This time the risk of casting his spirit into the mind of a servant, or doing anything to reveal himself, isn’t worth it. The brief idea of teleporting himself into the castle and hoping for the best is quickly discarded. Without knowing the layout, he’s liable to end up embedded in a wall, or halfway inside some unnecessarily large painting of one royal or another.
Instead of tempting fate, Minseok hides himself in the bushes, sitting cross-legged and out of sight. He opens the tie on his robes, reaching inside to one of the numerous pockets that line the fabric. A mage would be nothing without his robe - the pockets are enchanted to hold any number of things, creating a dimension of their own to store whatever a mage needs to carry with him. Minseok reaches into the pocket with his books and calls the right one to his hand.
Somewhere in the large tome now open on his lap is a detailed floor plan, magically kept up-to-date. Minseok just needs to find it. He pages through maps of villages, of the mines, of the migrating patterns of dragons, and the paths that the faeries take to pay tribute to nature before he finds the castle plans. He flips the book the right way to orient himself, then teleports himself exactly where he needs to be.
The large bedroom is a mess. Minseok takes stock of it all, sighing when he realizes that the mess isn’t because of whoever kidnapped the Prince. This is just how the Prince lives. Minseok stares at the large canopy bed with rumpled crimson velvet blankets pushed to the end, the gauzy gold curtains folded over the top and out of the way. Everything is decadent, and Minseok doesn’t understand people who need to surround themselves in these things when there are far better ways to live.
It shouldn’t be a problem finding something of the Prince’s that he can borrow. No one would miss it because no one could find anything in the mess. There’s magic still lingering in the air. Every mage’s magic leaves a different signature, each one as unique as a fingerprint, and Minseok studies the way it dances in the air, his curiosity growing because he doesn’t recognize it. There aren’t many mages in the world, and there are even fewer still that Minseok doesn’t know. It begs the question - why would some mage he’s never met frame him for kidnapping the Prince?
“Halt!”
Minseok blinks out of his haze and turns his stare toward the armored guard standing in the open doorway, a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Do I look like I’m moving?” Minseok responds dispassionately.
The guard looks confused before standing tall, still poised to pull his weapon. “You’re the one responsible for Prince Chanyeol’s disappearance,” the guard accuses.
Minseok sighs, only just refraining from rolling his eyes to express his irritance. “If I kidnapped your prince, why would I come back?”
The guard furrows his eyebrows, mouth twisted; he appears as if he’s trying to decipher a particularly difficult riddle. “Perhaps there is something of his that you need. Raise your hands so I can see them, mage!” he yells, pulling his sword.
“Oh for -” Minseok raises his hands, but also lets loose enough magic to have the guard’s arms pinned to his sides, sword clattering to the floor. “Weren’t you ever taught not to play with sharp objects?” Minseok tsks. “Why are you even here? What’s the point of guarding the Prince’s room when he’s already been taken?” Minseok pauses, a hand propped on his hip. “Unless he just wandered off and you needed someone to pin it on and decided a mage should take the fall.”
Minseok’s musing aloud, forgetting about the guard completely as his eyes dart around the room again. “Ah ha!” He has to step over two piles of clothing to get to the shelves mounted to the wall. Atop the lavishly padded wood lays a line of crowns. One of them is missing - presumably still on the prince’s head - but any of them will do.
Minseok plucks one off the shelf and inspects it, running fingers over the gilded edges as the gemstones scatter colors over the floor from the sunlight spilling through the window. How is anyone supposed to keep their eyes open staring at such a thing? Is the goal to blind everyone who dares set eyes upon a royal?
There’s a muffled thump behind Minseok and when he turns, he sees that the incapacitated guard has fallen to the floor. “Oh, you’re still here.” Minseok strides over to him, crouching by the man’s head. He pats him fondly on the shoulder. “It’s alright,” he reassures the guard. “You won’t remember this.”
Minseok doesn’t really have a place that he calls home. Home is where he’s needed. Home is where he can close his eyes for the night. Home is where the magic guides him.
But he does have a small house hidden in the trees near the village where he grew up. Call him sentimental, but it feels wrong relocating permanently when this is the place he was born. So he took up shelter in an abandoned cottage that had been taken over by the forest around it. Minseok let most of the vines and growing plants stay, even going out of his way to ensure he left the proper holes in the roof so they can get the sunlight they need. He’s not worried about his belongings; those are kept safe in the cellar.
Minseok is in the cellar now, tapping his foot as his latest attempt at putting a locator spell on the crown fails. There’s a plume of violet smoke that fills the air and Minseok coughs as it quickly floods through the room. He bursts out of the cellar, letting the vile smoke out as he lays spread eagle on the floor, pulling in deep gulps of fresh air. The crown is still in his hand, and he knocks it purposely on the brick fireplace. The crown doesn’t give, but some of the brick crumbles and Minseok huffs. He’s properly stumped.
Someone has to be blocking him: that’s the only explanation. Locator spells are simple magic. Not being able to get one to stick to the crown means that whoever took the Prince doesn’t want him to be found.
“By all the gods and powers in the known dimensions, I cast every curse on the person responsible for this,” Minseok hisses. “Xiumin help me,” he invokes, calling on the god whose power he pulls from, in his frustration.
The smoke begins to clear and Minseok peers up through one of the holes in the roof. The tree that curls upward through the living room spans wide enough to block most of the sunlight with its leaves, but the small slants of light that spill through dance along the walls and floor. The nature around him serves to calm him and Minseok’s grip on the crown lessens, the anger in his chest seeping from him until he’s far less likely to summon a thunderstorm to mirror his mood.
“This is a bit tricky, isn’t it?” comes a sudden voice.
Minseok jolts in surprise, eyes flying open only to see himself standing above him. The man crouches over Minseok, leaning over to take the crown, and Minseok allows it. He lays still on the floor, intrigued.
“Then again, it would have to be tricky if it gets you so riled up.”
“Xiumin,” Minseok breathes out.
“I have to say, I love what you’ve done - or not done - with the place.” Xiumin slips the crown onto his head, a circle of gold wreathing a head of mauve hair. Of all the colors Minseok has worn, mauve was never one he’d thought of, but it looks quite nice. It’s only mildly disconcerting that he knows because his god has chosen to show himself in the form of Minseok himself.
Xiumin makes himself at home, sitting on the roots of the tree that have grown through the floor. The flora seems to move around him, molding to form a chair beneath him cushioned by leaves and grass, flowers twirling around the edges to keep it all sewn together. Xiumin runs his fingers over the petals of a purple flower, thanking it before turning his attention back to Minseok who is still on the floor.
“Don’t stand up or anything. You’re fine where you are.”
Minseok sits up, so he doesn’t hurt his neck trying to look at his god. “Why are you here?” he inquires. Gods aren’t known for actually helping when asked.
Xiumin clucks his tongue, nose scrunching for a moment. “You called for me. Why else?”
“I’ve called for you many times. This is only the second time you’ve answered.” The first was when Minseok invoked Xiumin’s power for the first time while in school. They say the god chooses the mage and Xiumin had chosen Minseok earlier than most are chosen. He’d appeared to him then in the guise of a frost elemental, burning his brand on the insides of Minseok’s wrists. It had felt more cold than hot and the marks are cool now, pulsing with the magic of having the god so close.
“Let’s say I have a . . . personal investment in this particular case,” Xiumin responds cheekily, grinning as he taps a nail on the crown.
“Then why don’t you leave me out of it, and do it yourself?” Minseok suggests. There’s dirt on his robe, and he brushes it off, frowning when it doesn’t come clean.
Xiumin clucks his tongue. “Your enemy serves another, so I can not intervene.”
Typical. Minseok watches as Xiumin takes the crown from his head, twirling it between his palms. There’s an ease to his movements that betrays Xiumin’s identity, and Minseok studies it. The fluidity in the way the crown balances so easily, spinning of its own accord draws Minseok in.
“I can, however,” Xiumin begins, the crown going faster, shining like a beacon, “help you. A little.”
The crown stays in the air even when Xiumin’s hands fall away, appearing as a ball of white light that begins to move toward Minseok. When it gets to him, the spinning slows, the light fading until all that’s left is the same crown that it was before. Minseok plucks it from the air, nearly hissing at the magic imbued in the gold. It’s cold to the touch, not even warming under Minseok’s fingertips.
“It will guide you to the lost Prince,” Xiumin proclaims, clapping his hands once. He seems pleased with himself, as if he’s done some great service. Minseok supposes he should be thankful that Xiumin chose to help at all, although most gods who meddle directly in the affairs of man only screw things up more.
“Thank you,” Minseok says, but when he looks up, he’s alone in the room. Xiumin is gone, his throne of vines the only evidence left that he was even there at all. Minseok sits in it with a sigh, pushing the crown down on his own head. He’ll use the rest of the day to gather what he needs in preparation to leave in the morning.
The thing about locator spells, even the ones placed on an object by a god, is that they’re direct. They don’t care for things like roads or cliffs or expanses of water that are impossible to cross. Minseok is at the whim of the crown, cloaked in a concealment spell that extends to the edges of the enchanted carpet he’s riding through the air. The crown sometimes likes to float out of the range of the spell, and Minseok’s had to speed the carpet enough to keep up. On one occasion, a small child standing on the path below had seen the crown and shouted, pointing and jumping. Minseok had quickly sped forward by the time her companions looked up to see.
Now, all Minseok can see are the tree tops. He’s no stranger to this particular forest even if it’s not visited by many humans. It’s where the fae folk live, their domicile stretching and weaving through and under the trees. It’s curious that the kidnapper would be so far to the east. These lands are unsettled by humans, but that leaves Minseok wondering if the kidnapper is even human. That opens a new window of possibilities, and Minseok finds himself frustrated again. He can’t readily face some unknown entity without verifying what it is first.
This entire quest is a hindrance. He’d much rather be out wandering through the trails, forging his own path and cleaning up the messes that already abound. When he finds the Prince’s kidnapper, he’s going to wring its neck. Assuming it has a neck.
It’s nearing nightfall when Minseok dares to finally pull out something to eat; the darkness should conceal the crown if there’s anyone around who might spot it. He has rations for a week stored in one of the many pockets in his robe, all kept fresh in their bottles so nothing spoils. Minseok is fishing for the right one, bottles all clinking together, when something sharp slices over his fingertip. He curses, nearly losing control of the carpet and tipping the entire thing over. A droplet of blood slides down Minseok’s finger, and he scowls, speeding the carpet to snatch the crown out of the air before beginning his descent. There’s a small clearing in the trees and Minseok aims for it, setting down in the grass.
The moment he has the crown wedged under his leg to keep it from floating off, Minseok shoves his hand back into the pocket. He feels around, knocking over several bottles, but not finding anything broken. He reaches further, his arm sinking up to his shoulder until he comes across something that’s not a bottle. Minseok gets his fingers around it, pulling the culprit from his robes.
Wiggling in his grasp, snarling and cursing, is an imp. Imps are tiny humanoid creatures with pointed ears, coiling tails and teeth like razors. They survive by absorbing magic; just being around a mage is enough to sustain an imp. Normally, Minseok doesn’t have a problem with imps but this one, however, bit him. It still stings.
“Put me down you bully!” the imp demands, still kicking his little legs while his arms are folded across his chest. His red eyes narrow at Minseok and his ears twitch.
Minseok curls his lip at the creature. “Why should I? You bit me.”
“You woke me from my nap!” the imp retorts. “I was startled!”
“Well go nap somewhere else,” Minseok demands, holding the imp over the side of the carpet. As soon as he opens his hand, the imp wraps his arms around Minseok’s fingers, refusing to let go. “I said off! I’m not on the menu anymore.”
“I’ll be good,” the imp promises. His little tail curls around another of Minseok’s fingers and he looks so distressed that Minseok almost feels bad for him.
Minseok closes his eyes, sighing in defeat. “No more teeth,” he says, pulling his hand back.
The imp nods eagerly, blinking up at Minseok with a smile. “Thank you!” he squeaks, tapping his small fingers on Minseok’s thumb. “I’m Baekhyun.”
“I don’t care.” Minseok shoves Baekhyun back in the pocket, appetite lost. He’ll eat later when he’s done flying.
It’s well after dark when the crown begins vibrating gently, the magic around it glowing brighter to indicate that its target is near. Minseok doesn’t see anywhere in the area where a Prince could be stashed, but these valleys are known for their caves and tunnels that lead to the mountains in the distance. Minseok sets the carpet down in a field. The grass is tall, flowers blooming and scattered through the blades. They sway in the breeze and if Minseok wasn’t so tired and hungry, he’d appreciate their beauty.
This time, when he feels around in his pocket for a bottle, it’s pushed into his hand by the imp. He pops the cork on the small purple bottle, a puff of yellow smoke escaping before it gathers and coalesces into a nice, juicy roast chicken. It’s still as good as it was when it was cooked, pulled from the oven and allowed to cool just enough to eat. Minseok pulls out another bottle - blue this time - and washes his meal down with honey lemonade.
His eyes grow heavy, tired from keeping a continuous spell going all day and night. He barely has the energy to cast another spell, weaving a concealment shield around himself and adding an alarm as well that will sound if anyone nears. It drains the last of his energy and Minseok slumps on his carpet, asleep before he can let out another breath, the crown tucked safely in a pocket.
Minseok sleeps through the morning.
Minseok sleeps through the afternoon.
Minseok wakes when the sun begins setting with Baekhyun tugging on his ear, screeching about an entire day having gone by, and he curses at himself for losing so much precious time. Perhaps it’s just as well, Minseok surmises, as he gazes around the field, the crown wobbling to be freed from its confines as Baekhyun, satisfied, crawls back into a pocket. With the shadows flooding through the valley, Minseok won’t have to expend his magic to hide himself; the night will do it for him. He fashions a tether to keep the crown near, a magical thread attached to Minseok’s finger that will stretch only as far as he wants it to.
The carpet has been rolled up and pushed into a pocket and Minseok waits for the last rays of sunlight to darken before releasing the crown. It speeds toward its owner, Minseok following as silently as he can manage through the tall grass. It can’t be too far. Minseok keeps it just within his sight, every now and then tugging on the nearly invisible thread.
The field is left behind, the crown leading Minseok into a patch of trees, weaving him around the trunks and toward something on the other side. And soon, even the trees are fading into the background as Minseok stumbles over a more rocky terrain. He doesn’t much like being exposed and he thinks about pausing to cast a spell around himself to hide, but the crown knocks against something.
It’s a soft sound, like it’s fallen on carpet and Minseok slinks forward to investigate. When he gets there, the crown is trying valiantly to push its way through an invisible barrier. The inside is shielded; Minseok can’t discern what it’s hiding, but it must be the prince. There’s nothing else out here.
It just seems to be one thing after another that stands in his way. All he wants is to get his hands on whoever framed him for this ridiculous mess and make them suffer as he’s suffered.
Minseok grits his teeth and rubs at his eyes, snatching the crown out of the air before it draws any unwanted attention. As much as Minseok would like to blast his way through the barrier, it would be unwise. If he’s been balked so often thus far, he may not be prepared for what’s waiting for him. The smart thing to do is back off and do a little recon. It’s with a weary heart that Minseok heads back to the area he’d camped in earlier. It’s far enough away to be undetected, and he can hunker down, unseen in the tall grass.
It pains Minseok to admit that he needs help. His pride may not like it, but it doesn’t stop him. Minseok closes his eyes, relaxing enough to extend his consciousness, searching through a sea of minds to find the right one. As soon as he makes contact, he snaps out of it, shaking his head until he feels like one piece again.
“It’s been a long time.” Jongin’s face is always a familiar, welcoming one and Minseok smiles at his old friend despite the frustrating circumstances. Jongin steps gingerly around Minseok’s hunched form, his bare feet silent in the grass. He sits across from Minseok, head tilted. “You are troubled.”
“I wish this was a social call,” Minseok begins. “But I require your help.”
Jongin scrunches his nose for a moment just before breaking out into a smile. “Such a serious tone,” Jongin chuckles. “You know you can ask anything of me and I will not refuse.”
Minseok does know. It’s why he summoned his friend. And it’s why Jongin’s the only one he even thought about summoning. “I have a pesky problem,” Minseok begins, earning a larger grin from Jongin, “and something keeps blocking me. I think I’ve finally found what I need, but it’s hidden behind a shield and a concealment spell that I can’t break without revealing myself.”
“And you’d like me to pop in and see what’s inside?” Jongin guesses.
“Please,” Minseok replies.
“Point me in the right direction,” Jongin says, standing and brushing the dirt from his pants.
Minseok tells Jongin where to look, then watches as his friend fades into the shadows, blending with them to travel. Minseok isn’t worried; Jongin knows what he’s doing. Jongin is a plane walker; he can travel through dimensions unhindered and without detection.
They met years ago when Minseok was still getting used to being a proper mage. Jongin had called to Minseok for help through his dreams, probably finding the strongest entity in the nearby area and latching on. Jongin had been trapped, having gone too near a collapsing dimension and was stretched over several dimensions in an effort to keep from getting pulled inside. Minseok had bound Jongin’s soul to that of something far too powerful to suffer the same fate.
There aren’t many of the ancient dragons left, but Minseok happened to have made acquaintance with one only the winter before and the dragon, Yifan, had agreed to allow Jongin’s soul to be tethered to his. Their bond had allowed Jongin to escape, and Jongin had sworn a blood oath to Minseok to help him whenever he called. Minseok has only ever called on Jongin for conversation in the past. The gifts of a plane walker are not to be squandered and Minseok wishes there was another way, but Jongin will solve this quickly. Time is of the essence, and Minseok is antsy, hoping that he hasn’t sent Jongin into danger even when there’s no possibility of him being discovered.
It only takes minutes for Jongin to return, appearing out of the shadows as quickly as he’d vanished. He folds his legs as he takes up a spot across from Minseok again. “Beyond the shield is nothing more than a shelter in danger of falling. It’s old, having probably been a home once. I expect your quarry is the one inside. He seemed rather put out about his surroundings, and he’s wearing an insignia on his clothing. My guess is royalty.”
Minseok blinks, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “There was no one else?”
Jongin shakes his head. “None. There was only the man.”
“Thank you, Jongin.”
“Don’t wait so long to call on me next time,” Jongin scolds, smiling and reaching over to ruffle Minseok’s hair before he leaves.
Minseok pats down his hair with a scowl. Sometimes he forgets that Jongin is decades older than him even if Jongin will always appear young. He’s also wary of the Prince being alone. It could still be a trap, but Minseok has no choice. He’s not about to live the rest of his days hiding from a bounty on his head for something he didn’t do.
It’s with renewed determination that Minseok heads back to the shield, the crown in his grasp trying to free itself so it can rush forward. Minseok allows it to slip loose, but keeps it close with the thread. He retraces his steps that he’d taken before until the crown is pushing at the barrier.
The barrier isn’t all that dissimilar to the one that surrounds the castle. Minseok pierces through it easily, and the entire thing comes down, revealing the shoddy shelter. From this angle, Minseok can’t see inside it, but the crown zooms forward, whizzing through the air until it veers around the side. Minseok has to give chase, nearly tripping over wooden beams that have already fallen to the ground. The entrance is free from debris and Minseok steps inside, anticipating an attack.
Instead, he gets a glowering Prince tied to a chair, the enchanted crown now perched atop his unruly auburn hair and his eyes narrowed in Minseok’s direction. Minseok edges forward, convinced that something is going to strike at any moment, but nothing does. He stands before the Prince, eyes scanning over the ceiling and to the sides.
“Are you here to free me?” the Prince demands, rocking his chair side-to-side dangerously. Minseok almost wants to watch and see if he tips himself over.
Minseok sighs. “I am.”
It’s simple to release the Prince from his bindings. All Minseok has to do is snap his fingers and the ropes break, leaving the Prince free to stand up as he pleases. Minseok is still peering around, trying to figure out why this is so easy. He’s been balked at every turn. There should be something more than this.
“Where’s the rest of the rescue party?” the Prince inquires, his voice bearing all the weight of his title. “I assume you’ve brought a horse for me and perhaps a change of clothing.”
Minseok draws his attention from the room and fixes the Prince with an unimpressed stare. He doesn’t like the fact that he has to look up at him. “I’m all there is,” Minseok tells him. “I apologize that I didn’t bring an entourage. They would have drawn too much attention.”
The Prince glares at Minseok and Minseok doesn’t feel an ounce of sympathy despite the dirt clinging to the man’s skin and clothing. He’s been here, probably tied up for days if the welts around his wrists are any indication.
“Do you know who took you?” Minseok asks.
He gets a shrug in return. “I could tell you his face if I see him again, but I do not know his name.”
It’s peculiar that the kidnapper would ensure the guard saw Minseok’s face, yet the Prince was shown a different one. It could be sloppy work. Or it could all be part of some larger scheme. It doesn’t sit well with Minseok. His original plan had him magicking both himself and Chanyeol to the entrance to the castle, as close as the barrier would allow. But he can’t simply take the Prince home if he hasn’t caught the culprit.
Minseok turns and walks out of the shelter; he’ll find nothing more here and he’s left with a sour taste in his mouth. It’s a half-victory at best. He has the Prince in his possession at least.
When Minseok realizes that the Prince isn’t following him, he pops his head back in. “Are you coming? Or shall I tie you back up so you can wait for your next hero?”
The Prince’s glare gets more heated. “How do I know I can trust you? You could be the same creature that took me.”
“If I was your kidnapper, what reason would I have for freeing you?”
“How am I supposed to know the mind of a madman?”
Minseok bristles at the insult. “I am a mage. I do not care for games. My time is precious, and you’re wasting it. So either follow me, or sit here for your captor to return. I’ve no patience for princes.”
Minseok storms off, grumbling under his breath about royalty and their entitlement, pausing only to glance back for a brief moment. The Prince is following, albeit at a distance. He looks just as grumpy as Minseok feels. Something in Minseok’s chest knocks loose, an old emotion that he hasn’t felt in a long time now rattling toward his heart until he’s letting out a sigh. Compassion. The Prince clearly hasn’t eaten in days and he looks like he’s about to stumble to the ground and pass out.
“Once we’re a safe distance away, we’ll stop so you can rest. I have food and water.”
The Prince looks unsure, but finally nods his head after a moment. “That would be appreciated.”
Minseok leads the Prince toward where he’d camped earlier. The grass is still stamped down and Minseok pulls out the carpet for them both to sit on. It has no other use now that there’s two of them. It can’t fly with the weight of more than one person on it, but it’ll do nicely as a tablecloth for Minseok to spread the food on.
That royal demeanor falls the moment the Prince lifts the first bite of chicken to his mouth. He makes this humming moan, eyes rolling back in his head and Minseok feels satisfied that he’s done some good. He’s not heartless. This quest, however, has gotten under his skin and not in the good way. It’s like a festering wound that he wants to disinfect and sew closed, never to be thought of again.
“Did my parents hire you to find me?” the Prince asks once most of his chicken is gone. There’s still food in his mouth and Minseok cringes, watching as the royal son licks the grease messily from his fingers.
“No,” he answers. “I came on my own.”
The Prince raises an eyebrow at that, looking at Minseok for him to continue.
Minseok doesn’t. “We’ll rest here until dawn. Then we will begin the trek back to your castle.”
“But we’re still so close to where I was taken,” the Prince protests.
“You are well hidden,” Minseok assures him. “I suggest you sleep. We have a lot of walking ahead of us.”
part ii